Chained and Chastened

DAY ONE

"Welcome, ladies--or, should I say warriors? You are about to begin the most rigorous phase of your training. As you know, you have been carefully screened for your top secret mission, and have completed the physical and weapons courses. This psychological stress segment of your training may well be an even more demandinig challenge. Colonel Schmertz will give you the details; I'll leave you to her--tender care."

The trim greyhaired general surveyed his audience with cold eyes. The small briefing room at a secret CIA base held fifteen young women, smartly dressed in marine corps camo uniforms, upright on their folding chairs, awaiting their next challenge.

They were volunteers, they thought. Actually, they had been selected by a sophisticated computer program designed to study women under extreme stress--and break them. A high CIA official (a secret bondage and discipline devotee with links to private corporations) had got funding for the project under highly irregular circumstances.

Blondes, brunettes, redheads, all young, attractive, physically fit, mainly caucasian, but blacks and asians were also represented. Unbeknown to them, they had also been selected for a lack of significant contacts; families, spouses, close friends. Should they 'disappear' at the end of their training, no one would care too deeply. One candidate, Kristin Nyquist, was a bit of a ringer. She had volunteered along with the others (with phony

credentials); actually she was a skilled reporter assigned to do a newspaper expose of the program when--and if--she completed it. So far, so good, although the physical drilling, the combat courses, the firearm range had been difficult. The strict military discipline was hard at first, but she and most of the others had grown used to it. She had lost a few pounds, her already well toned body glowed with health. There had been few dropouts.

Now she waited with her small unit: what was this next challenge to be?

Colonel Schmertz stepped forward. She was a striking woman, a bit forbidding, her lush body only partially deemphasised by her severe tightly tailored uniform. Her glossy dark hair was drawn back into a bun, (possibly a wig? Kristin wondered), her lips were tight, unsmiling. Her eyes gleamed behind hornrimmed glasses. She strode to the microphone and coolly surveyed her audience, tapping her swagger stick--or was it a whip?--against one high leather boot.

"Ladies. Here is your assignment. It is not for the weak. From this moment forward consider yourselves no longer trainees, but prisoners in an enemy detention center much more brutal and severe than you can imagine. Much more. Your time of incarceration will depend on how well you withstand the ordeal. I will be the commandant, if you will, of your prison camp. I am not, as you may suspect, a soft hearted person. You may have noticed the armed guards who have entered the room. As you file out, please initial the 'hold harmless' forms at the rear of the building. This is your last chance to decline this defining mission. Patriots do not flinch in the face of the unknown. "

The women looked at one another. Murmers, consternation, faint protests. "What's this prisoner shit?" "she's just trying to scare us, to get us to drop out." "I been in jail before, ain't no big thing." "Marcia, this is kinda scary; I'm not sure I..." "Cool it, they're just doing a trip on us; this is all bogus."

Kristin was silent, and excited. This was what she had hoped for, an inside look at some of the CIA techniques, the tactics they had taught the Central American officers at Fort Benning, the Abu Ghraib fiasco. What else were they hiding? She sensed a scoop; a mingled feeling of excitement and a bit of fear. Prison? Brutal enemy? How bad could that be?

She was soon to find out. Only three of the women opted out; Kristin was not one of them. Having signed away her freedom, she was herded with her classmates into a bleak concrete building. The uniformed MPs hustled the women along with wooden batons. Inside, in a stark room lit with sputtering flourescent lights, the women were prodded rudely into two lines.

"Attention, prisoners. No, you are not ladies, or cadets, or anything else. You are my prisoners! You are scum! And you will obey my every demand. Is that clear?"

*

The captives gasped. Somehow Col. Schmertz had shed her uniform and stood before them in a gleaming, skintight leather jacket and corset; now she was blonde, with a Nazi officer's cap and leather jacket. She confronted them, holding a .45 automatic at her side.

"Oh shit! She's a bull dyke! I got a bad feeling about this!" Angie, a long haired busty folksinger turned computer programmer, murmured to Kristin, who also was feeling a twinge of terror. 'What was this creepy dominatrix--that's what she looked like-- up to?' she asked herself. Schmertz continued:

"My first order is: take off your clothes. Strip!"

The women were stunned, disbelieving. A few fumbled at their shirt buttons. The rest protested: "Hey, what kinda shit is this? " I never signed on to.." "Get those cops outta here." "This is outrageous!" And so on.

" Silence! Prisoners! Strip! Completely. You are no longer marines. You are my personal slaves. Now, get naked. Or my--policemen will be glad to help you."

Kristin glanced at the beefy cop near her, leering, sliding his hand suggestively over his night stick. Shuddering, she unbuttoned her camo shirt, then stepped out of her pants. Bending over, she unlaced and discarded her combat boots. And stood.

Around her, the other girls were reluctantly stripping, one or two in tears. LIke Kristin, most had kept their underwear on, until Schmertz's voice screeched through the microphone. "Prisoners! I said naked! Bare assed naked! You there, with the wonderbra! Take it off! Now! Do it now! And stand at attention!"

Janeesha, a statuesque social worker, refused to budge at first. One leering guard moved closer, his hands about to touch her magnificent black ass. She gave him a haughty look and shrugged out of her panties, unhooked her bra amd stood, proud and naked , flaunting her sexuality.

*

Kristin took off her bra, pulled down her panties, took a deep breath and tried to stand as tall as Janeesha had, facing front, pretending to ignore the grinning cop (or was he a cop?) at her side. She blushed and dropped her

eyes as she exposed herself. She was proud of her body; her usual wardrobe was provocative; but now, naked in front of the grinning guards she was mortified, strangely shy. This was more than she had bargained for. "Hey." She told herself, uneasily. "Whatever happens now, this is going to be a totally dynamite story!' The old saw, whistling in the graveyard, came to mind. *

All the women were naked now, some defiant, some whimpering, their proud marine uniforms and boots at their feet. Kristin realized: 'my digital camera's in my pocket! Nothing to do about it now!' The women with the best tits stood most proudly, Kristin noted; she was one of them. Vanity never sleeps. 'So, now we're naked, humiliated; that's what they want, I guess. What next?'

* "Excellent!" Col. Schmertz surveyed the twelve naked women with a tight smile. "First, you are to remain silent! Secondly, you will be restrained and processed..."

A slender blonde wearing glasses interrupted her: "Restrained? Processed? You are violating our--mmmph!" Before she could finish her protest, two of the flanking guards had seized her, gagged her with a ball gag, and handcuffed her arms behind her, moving with terrible efficiency.

Schmertz smiled once more. "I said silence, remember? Bring her here! Now!" The two uniformed men muscled the blonde up to the podium, where she stood, trembling now, but still defiant . She glared at the leather clad officer; the gag muffled the words she would have liked to say.

"Disobediece equals discipline. Harsh discipline! Watch closely, prisoners! " To the guards: "Bend her over!" * The blonde librarian, Alice, was bent at the waist, her glasses fell off. Schmertz lashed her savagely with her riding crop. One, two, three swift slashes marked her pale bottom; the red welts were clearly visible to her shocked fellow prisoners. As she writhed and moaned behind her gag, there was an audible gasp and one or two sobs.

Schmertz said, as the whimpering blonde sagged between the two guards: " Silence. And restraints. Line up, ladies. Single file. Quickly!"

As the women were herded by the prodding, grinning cops through a double door, Kristin experienced real terror for the first time. Up until now, this was an assignment, an adventure, a bit frightening and degrading ; she had resented the nudity, but such a great story, if she could just survive to tell it.' But now, that savage whipping, the leering guards, and especially the colonel's almost palpable evil vibes--she was really scared, regretting her whole plan. She was suddenly aware that the leather clad colonel was staring directly at her with a steely gaze. Kirstin quailed. She had hoped not to attract any attention. She slumped againt the wall, trying to look inconspicuous, to cover herself; too late. Colonel Schmertz with a tight cruel smile gestured at Kristin with her whip,

"You there. Yes you, the big titted blonde. Front and center! You have the honor to be our first customer in the discipline barracks." *

She nodded to the guards who shoved Kristin into the doorway where her arms were brusquely pulled behind her. Click. Click. Before she could protest she was handcuffed In heavy iron manacles, tight, pressing against her bare bottom, totally immobilizing her. She was terrified. Why had she been singled out? Had her newspaper assignment been discovered? And the handcuffs themselves...she shuddered, aware that the colonel's cold stare continued to regard her, possibly with sexual intensity. Kirstin's knees almost buckled. The cuffs were so tight, so heavy!

*

Her shoulders were stressed, pulled back; her breasts jutted forward. Suddenly the memory of the one other time she had been cuffed flooded back: a student protest, a corrupt cop. She remembered her ordeal in that alley; fondled, caressed, totally unable to prevent the outrage and the dirty sense of shame, of feeling soiled as he fumbled under her miniskirt and fingered her, helpless with the harsh steel on her wrists.

That was then, this was the all too real now. As she struggled frantically, futiley, she saw the others being handcuffed too; one blonde, Susie, a total airhead, was still unaware of what was happening, and even smiled winsomely at the guard as he cuffed her. "Little fool!" Kristin cursed under her breath.

*

Click. Click. Click. The grim sound echoed, signifying their loss of freedom. Soon all twelve prisoners were handcuffed and herded into a dank concrete room with showers and open pit toilets; some sort of primitive locker room, perhaps. The whipped blonde, Alice, cuffed and gagged, continued her muffled moans; several of the other women nudged close, trying to comfort her.

The captives were confronted by a group of...what? Kristin was confused ; her worry had become outright panic. The six women--guards?--

confronting her were wearing some sort of uniform: tight leather skirts, shirts, ties, peaked officers hats. They looked like a Nazi chorus line, or some S and M, B and D fantasy. As they roughly shoved the cuffed women into the center of the damp concrete room, abusing and slapping them, viciously tweaking a nipple or two, Col. Schmertz spoke once more.

*

"Let me introduce your matrons. During your imprisonment, you will obey them implicitly!" The uniformed women smirked, a few brandished whips. Colonel Schmertz grinned maliciously. "Now your indoctrination begins! Matrons, strap them to the showers!"

Consternation. The cuffed victims were no match for their whip wielding oppresors. Some tried to resist, to no avail. Some of the male guards, now lingering in the doorway anticipating the show to come, helped the female torturers. Soon all twelve women were strapped or cuffed or otherwise restrained against the damp concrete wall. Several of the captives, shouting angrily, had been ruthlessly gagged, and were now choking on the big ball gags as they were strapped or chained to the showerheads.

*

Schmertz could scarcely contain her glee; these were the sadistic moments she lived for! "And now, you dirty whores! It's shower time!"

The chained women looked at one another, confused and fearful. Showers? What now? The nazi matrons turned on high pressure hoses. Stinging jets of icy water punished the screaming women; chained, twisting and turning, they could not elude the frigid blasts. The sadistic matrons focused the nozzles on breasts and bellies. The screams subsided to waterlogged sputters and whimpers. * *

The uniformed guards were merciless; the icy hosing continued; the demoralized women, most of them now sobbing, were no longer trying to escape the icy jets.

The cruel soaking seemed to go on forever, or so it seemed to the miserable women. The nazi matrons were enjoying themselves; the watching male guards were hooting and cheering as the torture continued. "Look at that bitch squirm!", one exulted. "You mean that hot blonde with the tits? She's really gettiing her pussy flushed!" his buddy chuckled. Kristin gritted her teeth and tried to endure, to just hold on. Then one of the matrons approached her with a length of black rope. What now? She soon found out.

* Kristin was one of the captives selected for special treatment. With Col. Schmertz's urging, the matrons had devised even more ingenious forms of water torture. Tying ropes around the waists and through the crotches of some of the dripping women, they tugged the ropes through ovehead pulleys and tied them to empty pails. As the sprayed water filled the pails, they got heavier and heavier--the vicious hosing was still in full force-- the wet ropes sawed through their pubic clefts ; the pails filled, pulling them up on their toes, and finally off the floor, dangling, suspended by the abrading wet ropes. * *

And still the merciless hosing continued. Kristin, soaked, shivering, now on tiptoe with a harsh rope sawing into her cunt as her pail filled, moaned once more with outrage and misery. Splash! Another stinging jet of water in the face. And another. Kristin's spirits were eroding fast--washed away.

*

Finally Schmertz signaled a halt. With her experience as a torturer she sensed that this group of recruits was effectively broken, or nearly so. She exulted. She loved this rush, this moment of domination. She smiled and gave a nod to her nazi matrons; They had done this before; they understood what was about to happen.

One statuesque brunette matron in high leather boots, Dashka (known as Dashka the Dyke) stripped off her top and joined the soaked prisoners, slowly at first, like a panther stalking her prey. What now? The chained soaking women shivered, from fear as well as the icy water as Dashka began terrorizing them at her leisure, hosing them at close range, forcing them to their knees for lesbian foreplay, fondling their dripping cunts; the soaked women could not escape her torture. Kristin was slated to be one of the victims, a very special victim. *

Dashka stalked them slowly., selecting her victims at random. She stroked, then abused them, two or three at a time, forcing her perverted attentions on them, fondling, slapping, and always fingering their wet crotches. The male guards crowded the shower room doors grinning and nudging onenother; this was always the best show in town. *

Dashka saved Kristin for dessert, forcing the shamed bedraggled blonde between her widespread thighs for a long bout of forced cunnilingus; It seemed to go on forever. Somehow the presence of the smirking guards who had gathered to watch the show only deepened her sense of shame.

Finally the colonel intervened, smiling sweetly at the twisted matron: "That will do for now, Dashka, my dear. Remember, girls, we have many more showers in store for you." The prisoners, soaked, whipped, and now sexually humiliated, scarcely protested as they were unchained from the showers and reshackled for a forced march to their barracks. *

Schmertz was quite satisfied with herself and today's progress. They were nearly broken already! Just a few more days....The sadistic Colonel's employers (not the government, as the volunteers and Kristin had assumed, but a private, multinational crime syndicate dealing in white slave prostitution, among other crimes, was behind the whole evil project. Millions had been spent to bribe lawmakers and several top pentagon and CIA officials and base commanders to set up the elaborate hoax that had entrapped Kristin's class--and five prior groups of hapless victims.) Her superiors would be proud of this day's work, Schmertz gloated to herself.. And more days of domination to come! She had that one strawberry blonde, that Kristin, already picked out for "special treatment". She was sure that the blonde woman was a closet lesbian; she was certainly going to find out. She smiled as the whimpering women were shackled together chain gang style and marched to a cold cellar to spend a miserable night.

*

!

DAY TWO

Kristin awoke to the ungentle prodding of a matron's boot. For a moment she shuddered, relieved that her horrible nightmare was over, then as she registered the damp straw, the cuffs that restrained her aching arms, she realized that this was really happening; there had been no nightmare, just a long chilly night of misery, She raised her head; the other women, those who had finally been able to sleep, were also being booted awake. still painfully chained, thoroughly miserable.

*

Some of the captives had not slept at all; huddled together for a tiny bit of warmth on the cold wet cement floor over which a small amount of straw had been spread, Janeesha and a few others had tried to keep up the spirits of the group, but feeble whispers weren't much help. Kristin didn't even try to see the bright side; there was none. Before she finally drifted off for a few hours of fitful sleep. she began to realize that she might never be able to break her big story. This whole new twist was just too bizarre, too sinister. The kind of thing that left few--or no--survivors. She shuddered, and not just from the cold, as she burrowed into the soggy straw,.

Now, morning. The sun was just rising, early sunlight glinting off the shivering, still wet prisoners in the open shed. The matrons lined them up, still chained, huddled together, before they brought out a long wooden trougn, and poured it full of some kind of warm gruel from ten gallon pails. "Chow down, girls. Belly up to the trough!" one of the matrons cackled. * The women exchanged glances, moaning and complaining now: "Hey! take off these cuffs!" We can't eat like this!" Take off these handcuffs!" What is this shit?" The matron laughed again.

" No hands needed, pigs! Stick your faces in it! this is all the breakfast you're going to get." The women were famished; they had not been fed after the brutal shower ordeal. One, the slightly plump bank clerk, Norma, shuffled on her knees to the trough, then dipped her face into the gruel. She straightened up, face smeared,and whined defensively to the others: "Fuck you! Fuck you all! I'm starving!" She ducked her head and slurped some more.

Reluctantly, sheepishly, one by one the women knelt at the trough. Kristin was not the last to resist the degrading meal, Jasheena was. And surprisingly, the slim blonde librarian. But Kristin was starving, too. Soon she was bent over the trough with the rest; the warm slop was not too bad, she told herself, trying not to register the total debasement they were all enduring. Col. Schmertz in a figure hugging black leather outfit, officer's cap and dark sunglasses, swishing her riding crop, had arrived, smiling her evil smile. She nodded to her matrons.